“Name the different kinds of people,’ said Miss Lupescu. ‘Now.’

Bod thought for a moment. ‘The living,’ he said. ‘Er. The dead.’ He stopped. Then, ‘... Cats?’ he offered, uncertainly.”

― Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

In the Nordmark Camp with Alyssa, Mireille, and her friends.

After having been situated, the girls made the best of the remaining daylight.

Mireille located Paula, and both of them talked about their travels, with the former telling of the slaughter they found in the grove and both complaining about the snow. Alyssa did not calm down, and her anxiety rose with every passing hour as she whispered with Asandria. Alea tinkered with Butler One and infused new mana dust into freshly polished runes. The jewel core crackled with suppressed power.

Night fell, and Annabeth lounged on the low field cot, smiling at the other girls, “One night without cleaning, cooking, and setting up camp. Pure luxury.”

Alyssa gave a weak smile while Mireille joked around with Cyrus throwing pieces of jerky in ever more impractical trajectories laughing when he scrambled to catch them.

Everyone looked up as the tent flap was opened, and Vivienne and Valens ducked through.

Vivienne looked at her friends and sighed, “I don’t like to ask for favors but does anyone object to Valens sleeping here with us? I worry that something will happen, and he would be alone.”

Alyssa looked at the timid brother hiding behind his sister and remembered when she first saw the two, and it had been nearly the same but with one important difference- As she looked at him, he gave back a shy smile.

“We slept beside each other out in the forest. This is no different, and I can understand Vivienne’s worry.” Alyssa spoke up, rubbing her forehead to smooth the wrinkles her anxiety had brought her.

“No problem with me.” Mireille shrugged.

Alea looked a bit uncomfortable, as did Annabeth, but they nodded in the end.

“Thank you. If I can reciprocate the favor, tell me.”

“If something happens, we will be glad to be together. Don’t be so polite!” Mireille gestured uncomfortably.

“Should we make a watch rotation?” Alyssa asked.

“I think it would be prudent,” Vivienne answered.

Shortly after, the lights were dimmed, and everyone not on duty crawled underneath the blankets.

Valens rubbed his hands and looked gratefully at his friends before leaning back against the central tent-pole, settling in for his watch.

As the lost eye set behind the hills and the small red moon had not yet risen with only starlight illuminating the camp, there came the sound of boots scraping over the packed snow and low voices. Dark figures walked stealthily between the rows of tents.

“Quick, take the right with first squad. If someone moves…” A slashing gesture over his neck made clear his intent.

Taking their cue, the men following him divided, and a group each surrounded a larger and more solid seeming tent before the men took a quick look to see that they were all in position before another silent gesture made them take action.

Slitting the tent plane, they quickly entered, and the teachers resting inside were rudely awakened by swords pressed to their throats. Muffled exclamations sounded, and were soon silenced.

Glaring angrily, a stocky teacher was held to the ground while two soldiers gagged and bound him. A thin line of blood ran from where the sword had cut his flesh.

Beside another tent deeper in the noble's section.

Several soldiers hefted their blades, and one of them silently counted with his hand before they slit the cloth and ducked inside. A dull thump and flash spilled from the interior as wards reacted, and the tent-plane blew into tatters. An enraged older woman stood in the middle, focus rod drawn, and screamed, “Alarm! We are under attack!”

Several hundred yards distant, an officer cursed, “Only a question of time until something like that happens. Quickly mobilize the rest of the squads. Stealth is out of the question now. But when we have the teachers secure, the students won’t be a problem.”

Vivienne, who was awake, hastily shook the rest of them awake, “Quickly, dress and ready yourself. I heard screaming outside. I don’t know who or what caused the commotion but hurry!”

“Let’s try to get to Sarah.” Alyssa had quickly thrown on her robes. “And do take your backpacks. We don’t want to be without our equipment if we have to flee!”

Mireille lifted the tent-flap with her degen and surreptitiously looked outside. “It’s still clear. There is fighting near the noble encampment. I cannot see who is fighting, though.”

“Let’s go and try to stay together.” Vivienne nudged Valens to go forward.

More and more students huddled between the tents, and flashes of lightning or an explosion accompanied by a shortlived flame bloomed toward the starry sky.

“What the hell!?” Mireille looked at the fighting. “That’s too blatant, isn’t it? Those are soldiers.”

“They really dare.” Alea looked angry. “How could they? Simply attacking in the night. There will be injuries, deaths…”

“Halt!” The dark shapes of soldiers in the colors of the Nordmarks ran down the makeshift trail to their right and two leveled crossbows at them. “Leave everything on the ground. We will escort you to a safer place.” The soldier tried for a reassuring grin.

“Do you really believe we are blind?” Alyssa asked incredulously while Mireille readied her hands for a shield.

The helmet cast a dark shadow over the eyes of the man, but they could see the mouth harden into a white line. “Don’t make trouble you can’t afford, girlie.”

With a quick look to the side, Mireille activated a coruscating web of lightning, the sides burning into the tents and snow flashing into steam with heated water bubbling in between the suddenly uncovered stones. Startled, the two crossbow-wielding fighters released their bolts which impacted the web with a sizzle like hot metal meeting water. The wooden shaft was instantly burned to fine coal dust, and the tip fell to the ground, still glowing white-hot sizzling as it rolled into the snow. As quickly as it had come, the shield flickered out, and Mireille cursed before covering her degen in coruscating lightning.

“Kill them! They are commoners anyway.”

Two of the men behind the foremost trio activated brands, and one of them hurled a series of stone shards at the group of students while the other summoned fire, coating his blade and right arm.

Alyssa reflexively summoned void and incanted the short spell for a missile throwing an unformed globe of darkness that quickly honed in on the speaker touching his chestplate and rusting the metal while rotting the fabric beneath, and then the man began screaming while tearing at the straps of his breastplate.

One of the shards nearly hit Alea, but Butler One swiftly interposed itself, and with a ‘clang', the stone ricocheted into the night.

One of the crossbow-wielding soldiers drew his sword after throwing the discharged weapon to the side and took a slice at Alyssa. A whiplike shadow burst from the darkness, and with a pained scream, the man fell back, dropping the sword while clasping his injured arm to his chest. Dark fluid bubbled from a long deep cut as Cyrus withdrew his stinger.

Annabeth stood behind them, shivering and pale in the scant light, and spoke a short spell summoning a globe of light which she pitched behind the soldiers backlighting them.

Another cluster of dark orbs catapulted from Alyssa’s hand where she held the void focus; the smoky crystal seemed to contain a piece of night. The orbs impacted in a line from the upper left leg to the right shoulder and the man who had just now threatened them simply folded around the disintegrating holes left by the missiles before silently falling to the ground where flesh bubbled with corruption and the whole corpse slowly sunk into the ground.

The two branded discharged flames and shards of stone while retreating as quickly as safely possible.

Some of the tents further away had caught on fire, and the flames and Annabeth's glowing light cast sharp shadows. A lance of light interrupted the incessant shards of stone, eliciting a pained gasp as it burned and cauterized a hole into the burly branded’s hand. Turning, the man stumbled and ran through the tents beside him, collapsing one and causing a surprised exclamation from someone still hiding inside before the soldier vanished into the night. The other branded with the flaming sword looked around desperately and then, too, turned to run.

The Commandant and the army detachment arrived at the flat hilltop where tall and silent monolithic stones formed a circle like the teeth of a great worm erupting from the earth to eat the moon. Wasn’t there a story like that?

Franz von Ehrenbrecht was nearing his fiftieth year in this world, and sometimes it felt like each of them had left some mark, some hidden pain that made him old before his time. Not that fifty wasn’t old; he scolded himself.

Looking around, he saw the group of scouts return he had sent to canvas the region before moving the troops. Not that the Wolf-Tribe wouldn’t be able to avoid them should they so choose- At least smaller groups of them.

Lars von Nordstrom walked up to him, silently observing his interactions with the scouts. A heavy fur coat with a golden clasp holding it together protected him from the biting cold. Looking up, the stars shone coldly, and only a few wispy clouds hung before the lost eye.

Franz von Ehrenbrecht drank deep from the small flask he had begun to carry with him and then lowered his hand with a frown of dissatisfaction. “Damn. Empty again.” Turning toward Lars, he continued, “The Tribe has sent their emissaries. They are waiting beside the circle. I don’t think that will go well, so be prepared to withdraw.” Sighing, he straightened his back which gave an alarming crack. “Nothing to it; we can as well get going.”

Walking up to the standing stones, they saw a group of large humanoids gathered around a stooped figure. All of them sported animalistic features like furred wolf ears, amber eyes, and sharply pointed overlarge canines.

The person standing in the middle was an old woman nearing the end of her life with white furlike hair and piercing yellow eyes.

“I am Navastrash, and I am here to talk.” A scratchy, tired voice sounded, and the old woman took a step in their direction.

“Franz von Ehrenbrecht, and the one beside me is Lars von Nordstrom. You have violated the old border agreements. What have you got to say in your defense.”

A sneer exposed yellowed fangs as the woman scoffed, “Border agreements. As if that ever stopped you. You knew our needs. The rivers change course every few seasons. To say that the river is in the north this time does not make this land yours. The groves were explicitly exempt!”

“The agreement said everything beyond the first river is yours. The river…” He paused, pointing, “...is this way. We are well within our rights. And you killed our people.”

“I will not argue what is clear as day. Only eyes clouded by greed and avarice could somehow construe your actions as right. Withdraw from the holy groves and deliver those that killed the tree sisters to us for judgment. If you do that, this matter will be closed, but your people will no longer be welcome in the Hundred Streams. That is the best I can do. If you don’t accept, we will be at war come the new moon.”

Lars looked at both sides and sighed before silently counting.

The commandant hiccuped and frowned before waving air into his face. “Excuse me.” He pulled at his collar as sweat began to drip from his brows.

“What are you doing.” The old woman asked warily.

“Seems something I ate did not agree with me.” Blinking as if concentrating on something difficult black blood frothed before his mouth, and he fell backward with a deflated-sounding sigh.

“Treachery! Men, to arms!” Lars completed the spell he had been holding and jumped backward, driven by a fierce gust of wind crashing into and sliding over the snow before coming to rest before the startled soldiers. The Tribesmen were also surprised but withdrew quickly under a shower of bolts and magic from the army detachment.

“As the highest-ranking officer present, I take command!” Lars shouted over the din of exploding fireballs and lightning bolts. “Kill them! Don’t let them get away!”

“Father?”

“Just about now.” The old man looked fixedly at the sky, and Ioreth, the reddish moon slowly rose over a hilltop to the northwest.

Together they chanted and formed complicated glyphs. The men of the fort stood around them, guarding to the sides. The runes inside the prepared spell circles lit with a deep thrum, and a shiver ran through the loose snow on the ground making small pebbles jump down the steps of the old construction.

The chant continued until the moon had reached its peak, and with a final flourish, darkness spilled from the ground and crept across the floor toward the surrounding heaps of corpses. Staggering, the old man grimaced and lit the hand of glory with a gesture, and flickering greenish flames illuminated both of them.

“Daughter. It is time for me. I cannot outrun the wraiths; take the hand and go. You are the one to finish what we started.” With a harsh gesture, he stilled her protest. “Hurry. I cannot hold for long now!”

“Father, don’t do this to me.” Tears dripped from her eyes as she looked at the old man imploringly.

“Go.”

The darkness reached the mounds of cadavers, and with a grating wail, shapes flashed through the air coming from the deepening shadows cast by the red moon. The soldiers grew restless, and one of them turned and started to call before blinking rapidly, looking around in confusion. “Hey! Them creepy wizards are gone!” He grabbed the shoulder of the one next to him and shook.

“Cease your racket.” Turning, the older man widened his eyes. “Damnation! Gesserach protect! Run!”

And as the soldiers desperately and without any thought for order tried to run away, the entangled corpses shook with unnatural life, empty eyes began to shine with greenish light as they singlemindedly crawled, walked, and hopped in search of the living.